


Always Alright

by tinkerbellxoxo



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, TATM, post-TATM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkerbellxoxo/pseuds/tinkerbellxoxo
Summary: In a word, River Song is exhausted. She only managed to spend four earth days on the TARDIS with her husband before she had to flee to deal with her own grief.ORA younger Doctor, Amy, and Rory visit a post-Manhattan River.
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor/River Song, The Doctor/River Song
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Always Alright

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not read if you're looking for fluff...
> 
> Hi! I'm still new at fic, and this is my first River/Eleven but I think I'm proud of it??!? Thank you so much to @hihoplastic for all the feedback! Hope you like it :)

In a word, River Song is exhausted. She only managed to spend four earth days on the TARDIS with her husband before she had to flee to deal with her own grief. Four days of arguing, four days of drying his tears, four days of acting as his punching bag, because yes she told her to go and _yes_ she would do it all over again if she had to.

Ninety-six hours, she scoffs to herself. They couldn’t even make it a full one-hundred before she was sneaking out of their bedroom, silently piloting the TARDIS to her cottage on Luna before erasing the flight history and charting the ship’s return to the vortex upon her disembarkment. 

Taking a washcloth to her face, she finally begins to scrub off the layers of makeup she kept on for her husband’s sake. Her face clean, she tosses the washcloth into the sink, laughing a bit manically to herself at the absurdity of it all as she yanks on the bath handle waiting for the water to warm. She’d notice the lines around her mother’s eyes in Manhattan. If the beautiful Amelia Pond couldn’t fool her husband, who is she to even try and keep up this facade?

River sighs as she turns to grab her robe and a towel, pausing when she catches another glimpse of herself in the mirror. Squinting, she isn’t surprised by how pale her skin is. Her cheeks are hollow, eyes bloodshot. Even her hair is practically wilting at the weight of her ‘marriage.’ So River approaches her reflection cautiously, as if she might startle the shell of the woman in the mirror.

Slowly, she raises a hand to press gently on the puffy circles around her eyes. She pushes her curls back away from her face. Not that she can even call them curls at this point. She wonders if he knows how much work her ‘space hair’ actually takes. 

Yes, she certainly made the right call leaving when she did. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to have him see her as is. No, after just a few days with her husband and the heavy mask she wore began to corrode the skin underneath, seeping into her pores and clouding her eyes.

Surrendering to the exhaustion, she feels herself falling forward. Bracing her arms on the sink, River finally lets herself burst into tears, welcoming the company of the woman in the mirror.

After what feels like hours later (some part Time Lady she is), she lowers herself into the tub. The washcloth would do to wipe away her makeup and the sticky residue from her tears, but it isn’t enough to ease the weight on her shoulders like the steaming water can. Breathing deeply, she continues to tell herself how everything is really how it should be. Amy and Rory, together forever. The boy and girl who waited finally getting to spend the rest of their lives together. That is what matters. No one could get in the way of that. No one should. 

But they were her parents. 

All that love for each other and they used it to make her. A psychopath, a cruel facsimile of the daughter they never really had. And as she scrubs determinedly at her arms, River reminds herself that she can’t blame them for compartmentalizing. She understands why they kept her in a tiny box, separate from the rest of their lives. Even her husband was welcomed into their family. _She_ was once mentioned to Brian in passing as ‘the Doctor’s wife’… whatever that meant.

 _Shit!_ River bolts upright in the water. Someone will have to tell Brian. _Someone_ , who the hell is she kidding, she will. She scrapes the loofah harder, as bright red splotches form on her shoulder, as if her dedicated scouring will erase all the loose ends she’d need to tie up. ‘Hi there! You don’t know me, but your son and daughter-in-law are gone forever. The Doctor sends his love, though.’

Except they aren’t _gone_ , not exactly. And yes they are together, but they are also alone. Trapped in a different country, a different time. _Christ_ she’ll need to find a way to get Amy a hairdryer. Forget the hairdryer, she’ll need to set them up with a bank account, jobs, a place to live. Perhaps a nice little brownstone where they can raise a child for real this time. She leans back against the curve of the tub, flexing her toes above the water, her pruned skin the only evidence of how much time she’s spent with her thoughts. 

And she still has to write that damned book. She flings the loofah into the increasingly lukewarm water. What business does she have penning the fairy tale of Amelia Pond? Her parents’ story would always be that of the boy and girl who waited. Not the boy, the girl, and their estranged kidnapped daughter. River was no fairy tale. 

‘But River, we’re _all_ just stories in the end.’ Even now she can hear his voice prattling on in her head. Him and his stories, traipsing around the universe collecting loyal followers, companions, writing their names in the stars until their stories had to end. And then he’d leave them, abandon them to the deep recesses of his mind, like prized books on his shelf. She shudders at the thought.

River heard stories as a child, tons of them–tall tales about the Doctor’s carnage across the galaxies. And when she finally ended up in Leadworth she heard new ones, princes and princesses, knights in shining armor. But surrounded by the Pond and Williams families, thrust into their fairy tale, she was trapped in a world of happily-ever-afters she could never have. That was not her story. She knew better. 

That sort of thing was for her parents. And she has the right to mourn them properly. Which is why she tells herself she’s simply going mad when she hears the telltale _whoosh_ of the TARDIS landing in her back garden. The Timelord with the worst timing, when it comes to her at least. She supposes a lot of things are different for the Doctor when it comes to her.

 _Doctor,_ she has to stop herself from scoffing at his name. Not his real name, of course. No, this one is “like a promise,” he once told her. Promise to what? To mend? To make better? Was that what he told himself he was doing when he fixed her wrist days ago? Because he wasn’t mending her wrist in Manhattan, he was erasing the evidence of the damage he caused so he wouldn’t have to look at it. Some doctor, putting a plaster on a bullet wound. Well if he wasn’t going to heal her, could he at least have the decency to let her do it on her own?

Deciding to, for once, follow the example of her parents, she is determined to sit and wait. That is until the bulb atop the ship starts flashing. _Looks like mummy calls._ The idiot probably didn’t even realize she landed. 

Unless something is wrong.

Drying quickly and wrapping herself in an old bathrobe, she rushes to the TARDIS, not giving a thought to her attire nor her bare face.

Throwing open the doors, she freezes. Her parents are sitting on the floor. River’s heart drops, and she almost doesn’t register the smell of gin wafting throughout the room. Her father is pressing a cold compress to her mother’s ankle as the pair giggles to themselves, slouched against the walls of the TARDIS in a failing attempt to remain upright. River is rooted to her spot, blinking furtively at the sight. 

“River!” squeals Amy, trying to stand up on her injured ankle before a smirky Rory dutifully pulls her back to his side with an eye roll. Ankle or not, River doesn’t imagine she’d be able to balance anyway given her current state. 

“How’d you get in here?’ he slurs, squinting at her. 

“The TARDIS came and got me,” she murmurs. Remembering why she’s here, she rushes to her mother’s side, trying to figure out what is so urgent that she needed to be summoned. 

“Are you alright? Where’s the Doctor?” Rory nods across the room, where the Doctor is sitting pensively, nursing what appears to be a beer. 

“And we’re fine,” laughs Amy. “Just a wee little twist of my ankle,” she pouts.

Letting out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, River throws her arms around her parents, tugging them close. “Thank gods you’re ok,” she nearly sobs as Amy begins to play with her hair with a degree of focus quite impressive for an intoxicated woman. 

If only for a second, the tension leaves River’s frame as she sinks into her parents’ embrace with a sense of relief. Before she remembers they are essentially echoes. And while she is thrilled to see them, she can’t fully process the pain of looking into the eyes of loved ones she knows are already long gone. 

Besides, she has business to attend. Composing herself, River pulls away to face the Doctor. “When was the last time you saw me?” she asks brusquely. The Doctor apparently planned to continue his vow of silence, as he merely raises his fingers to his lips, a small smile playing on them if only for a fraction of second. River clenches her jaw, somehow still surprised at his uselessness and complete lack of disregard for the current situation. 

“You look different,” frowns Amy, reaching out her hands haphazardly to trace the features of River’s face as if to help her see. Even Rory joins in, pulling strands of her hair in an attempt to examine them more closely. Despite everything, River can’t help but chuckle at how in sync they are in their drunken states. 

But it is Rory who snaps her out of her reverie when he declares, “Nooo, she doesn’t look different. She looks like the last time, like she did in the tunnel!” He squints. “You said there’s a day coming? Is that today, River? Is that why you’re here?”

River frowns. Her ever perceptive father hits the nail on the head once again. The feelings of loss from earlier in the evening come flooding back as tears begin to yet again prick at the corners of her eyes. She can’t cry now though. She just lost her parents, and if she loses her composure here, she might lose the idiot on the other side of the room, too. 

But now, her parents are back‒here, in front of her. But they don’t know who she is. And worse, if this is just after Florida, she isn’t even hugging her actual mother. No, they had taken the real Amy. And none of them had noticed. 

She clasps her hands together, pinching the skin between her thumb and index finger in an attempt to keep the tears at bay, a trick she learned quickly under Kovarian’s care. Displays of weakness were met with punishment. Funny. Kovarian probably didn’t even realize how well she’d trained her to handle the Doctor, after all. 

She casts a glance over Amy’s form, knowing that somewhere else in the universe, the real Amy’s tummy was growing with little Melody inside. As her eyes sweep further, she spots a gash on Amy’s knee that the boys had _yet again_ yet to notice. 

River sits back on her knees as she feels her blood start to boil at the carelessness of it all. His negligence to the swap, the recklessness of crashing into the backyard of an unsuspecting little girl. It has always been her job to clean up his messes, to shield him from this, from what he’s done. But surely he can acknowledge _something_. Standing abruptly, she locks in on the Doctor and marches across the room.

“She’s bleeding, Doctor? Did you even notice she was bleeding? Or are you too busy sitting and having a pint?”

Finally snapping to attention, the Doctor looks at her curiously, placing the bottle on the floor. 

“I said she’s bleeding,” her voice getting louder.

Rory, at least, begins to frantically check his wife over. Amy shakes her hands, slurring that it is just a scratch and that she’s “ _fineeee_.” 

“See that,” the Doctor chirps, a bit smug. “She’s fine.”

River whips her head around to face him, eyes alight. “She’s not fine,” raising a trembling hand to point at the pair still laughing to themselves on the floor. Well, she sees them laughing, but all she can hear is a faint ringing in her ears. “How could you let this happen? On your life she would be safe! You were supposed to protect her!”

Everything stops. River’s eyes fly open with a gasp, covering her mouth at the realization of what she’s just said. 

Her heart is racing. The Doctor approaches her slowly, placing a hand on her shoulder. She bristles at his touch. “It was just a little fall, Dr. Song. She’ll be alright.”

Further startled at the formality of his address, River wrenches her arm away, spitting out that “it’s professor now.” 

He flinches in response. Finally, something akin to her own grief and concern flickers in his eyes, but no sooner than it arrives does it disappear. Turning on his toes, he faces the couple and claps his hands together. “Alright, Ponds. River is right. Off to bed you pop. Rory, the Old Girl should have something for Amy’s knee in the washroom.”

Rory stands carefully before helping Amy up, offering his arm for support. Amy continues to giggle as she stifles a yawn. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, mister,” pointing her finger accusingly at the Doctor. 

He shakes his head, raising his hands in mock defeat. “Don’t worry. I know there is no one in this universe who could tell a Pond what to do.”

River winces.

“Damn straight!” she slurs. “But a bed does seem nice,” she hums as they venture off.

“I’m sure you’ll be as good as new once you wake up,” he shouts down the corridor, before mumbling “probably won’t even remember this.”

River watches her parents stumble out of the room arm in arm, _just as it should be_. And a lone tear finally escapes her eye. She wipes it away quickly with a shaking hand, now realizing that she’s not wearing any makeup. What’s more, she just had a _minor_ breakdown in front of the Doctor, in a bathrobe, nonetheless. 

Her breathing picks up as she rushes to sit on the stairs and compose herself, mentally calculating the logistics of dashing to her room and grabbing her lipstick. Her parents would be none the wiser, so surely she could rearrange a few of the Doctor’s memories of this evening, as well. 

She presses her fingers to her temples, rubbing small circles in an attempt to stop the tingling in her hands and regulate her breathing, as she wills her tears away for just a few more hours. She hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye to her father. And her mother left her with nothing more than a cursory instruction to take care of the Doctor. Forced to keep her eye on the angel, River couldn’t even watch her go. She is not going to pass up the chance to see them one last time in whatever passes for morning on the TARDIS, even if that means spending more time with her not-yet husband. 

River squeezes her eyes shut as she feels him nearing her spot on the step, waiting for him to encroach on her space again, sitting so close that she’d be forced to carry his pain, as well. His frowns aren’t just audible, they’re suffocating. And River needs all the air she can get.

Taking a deep breath and schooling her features, she is surprised to open her eyes to find his nearly full beer bottle in front of her face.

“Want some?” he peers down at her hopefully. “I imagine you’d probably like this more than I would.” Albeit confused, she accepts his peace offering and takes a long swig. He sits down beside her, continuing to smile sheepishly as if afraid she’ll turn him away. His nervous energy is so palpable, it almost distracts her from her own contemplation. After a few more moments of him twiddling his thumbs, he nudges her knee with his own. “I like the robe,” he teases bashfully, the tips of his ears turning pink. 

River rolls her eyes fondly, early days for him indeed. She shrugs, a bit of the fabric sliding off her shoulder, as the blush creeps up his neck. Maybe a long time ago she would’ve traded ‘hide the damage,’ for ‘show some skin,’ just leave the Doctor too flustered to really notice anything. But she knows better now. “A girl can never have too much TARDIS blue in her wardrobe.” She feels the TARDIS hum under her bare feet in agreement. 

“Never really thought of you as the fluffy bathrobe type.”

“You wouldn’t, would you, Doctor?” refusing to meet his inevitably wounded eyes, River continues to stare straight ahead. Not because she’s afraid she’ll cave, but because she knows she won’t. Her breathing has returned to normal, her frame a bit more relaxed, but she is still in no position to have _this_ conversation. 

Appearing to take the hint, the Doctor presses his lips together, resolute to sit with her in the uncomfortable silence they’ve created. She appreciates his efforts. So she hands the bottle back to him so he can at least keep himself occupied by fiddling with the label. 

She has to take it back a moment later when she gets tired of listening to him struggle to play a song by blowing over its mouth. 

And, unsurprisingly, the Doctor is unable to take the silence any longer. “We were just trying to have a normal night out,” he mumbles guiltily.

River sighs, slipping dutifully into wife mode. Perhaps if she can get him focused on his problems, he would become too wrapped up to even remember what she’d shown him of hers. “Now why would you try and do something stupid like that?” 

“I wanted to show them that _we_ could do normal things together.” She shrugs again, continuing to stare ahead. “They’re going to leave soon.” River freezes, the fragments of her already broken heart shattering even smaller. “They need to leave,” he continues. “You know, go off, make babies, do humany things.” 

Her fingers tighten around the bottle. “You can’t travel with them forever, you know?” 

The Doctor sighs at being reminded of something he understands all too well. “I suppose you’re right as always, River Song.”

Yep. That’s her alright, the all-knowing, all-fixing River Song. The one with all the spoilers. She remembers the days when he used to use that word and doubts _he’d_ ever had to sit on anything as big as this.

With the conversation over, her husband placated, she makes to stand and head off to bed. A hand on her wrist stops her. She can feel the Doctor’s gaze on her as his fingers burn a circle into her skin. But he’s unusually patient tonight. And he waits her out, refusing to let go until she meets his eyes. Itching to leave, but too tired to fight, River reluctantly turns to face him.

“Are you alright, River?” he asks tentatively. River stiffens. Clearly she hasn’t been masking her feelings well enough if he’s noticed to the point of acknowledging it. _But_ , she stops and thinks to herself, _he’s still here_. And he hasn’t avoided meeting her eyes, no practiced smile on his face. If she were to just go by the look he gave her when her robe slipped–well, if he is trying to hide anything he certainly isn’t doing a good job at it. Other than that, the only emotion he’s shown since sitting next to her was concern. For whom or what she can’t be certain, but perhaps...

And for a split second, River considers taking his question at face value and answering him.

But she can’t take that risk. The number of people she cares about in this world is shrinking—quickly. And she’d be damned if she lost another one due to her childish little outburst. _Lipstick it is_.

“I’m always alright,” she answers levelly. The Doctor pauses, furrowing his brow as he tries to read her empty expression. He takes his hand back, wringing them together, carefully contemplating his next words. 

“Is ‘alright’ special River Song code for not really alright at all?” River’s mouth drops open a bit as he looks up at her with nervous, yet determined eyes. A determined Doctor was nothing to shirk at. 

“Came up with that one all on your own, sweetie?” she asks playfully in an attempt to lighten the mood. But the endearment sounds wrong on her tongue. And her question only causes his eyes to cloud further. She wonders if she’s hurt his feelings. He _is_ young after all. She can’t fault him for not understanding how they work yet—that deflecting is just what they do.

She weighs the desire for wrapping up the conversation against her curiosity to figure out what exactly he’s playing at. She compromises with another sigh. 

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m alright, too,” he murmurs, turning his gaze downward in an attempt to hide his face. 

Bingo. Her chest tightens as the ringing returns to her ears. Once again, he needs her. 

His hand on hers, he clumsily attempts to lace their fingers together. She lets her hand go lax, embracing the feelings of numbness flooding over her body by allowing him to manipulate her fingers as he needs.

However fleeting, it was silly to think he sat down with her for any reason other than needing her shoulder to cry on. What’s left of her heart goes out to him. Truly, it does. But she doesn’t know if she can _be_ _this_ for him right now. She chides herself for allowing herself to even consider that he would, that he could- but the sound of his voice cuts her thoughts short.

Keeping his head down, he whispers hopefully, just loud enough for her to hear, “Perhaps we could be alright together?”

 _Oh_ _._ River’s eyes grow wide. It’s as if she didn’t realize she had been drowning, until she’s suddenly being hauled up for air. Lungs burning at the foreign sensation, adjusting to their new environment, gulping down the oxygen they so severely need. 

She chokes out a sob, head falling into her hand at his offer to share the burden. Shocked that she would come to find the solace she’s been desperately seeking in a younger version of the man she loved, wondering what it was that instilled the need to hide from him so deeply into her psyche in the first place, questioning what the hell happened to get their future selves to this point. 

She can feel the Doctor’s leg shaking as he waits for her response. Where in Manhattan she found his presence smothering, here she takes comfort in the warmth of his body next to hers. His thumb shakily traces reassuring circles over her fingers. But her silence must’ve gone on too long as he begins to stop in resignation. 

Determined not to push him away — determined to accept this gift for what it is, to allow herself to work through this _with_ him, River places her other hand on top of theirs, holding them tight. She edges closer, both their frames relaxing as they breathe each other in.

And, if only for tonight, she'll shed a few tears on _his_ shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this far! Would love to know what you think!! @tinkerbellxoxo on Tumblr


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